


the kind who builds towns

by CallicoKitten



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Kidnapping, at the moment anyway, the gang are not great at kidnapping people, this is way darker than my summary makes it sounds, wesley lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:13:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3883648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where instead of shooting him, Karen takes Wesley hostage and proceeds to drag Foggy and Matt into it because sharing is caring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> from [ this ](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=390101#cmt390101) prompt at the dd kinkmeme 
> 
> title from this quote from Catherynne Valente's "the girl who fell beneath fairyland": i’m a monster,” said the shadow of the marquess suddenly. “everyone says so.” the minotaur glanced up at her. “so are we all, dear,” said the minotaur kindly. “the thing to decide is what kind of monster to be. the kind who builds towns or the kind who breaks them."
> 
> i have no idea where this is going so i make no promises of fast updates <3
> 
> also im british and tried to use american words but some britishisms may have escaped

**day one, 23: 33;**

This is it, Karen realises. This is the moment she decides who she is.

She's got a gun pointing at the right hand man of the devil, the literal devil and all it'd take is one squeeze to end this. She could kill him and no one would know. He hasn't told Fisk and that means he probably hasn't told _anyone._ He's getting sloppy, making mistakes, it might not show but he's cracking, whether he knows it or not.

She could walk away from this, she could be the person Foggy and Matt think she is, back out slowly and run like hell. It might not work but she'd get away clean. She could call the police, but Fisk owns half the force and Wesley won't be in for long.

She could kill him. He's begging her to, _begging_. He's sitting there, so smug and self assured and _convinced_ that she's not going to shoot. He thinks she's weak, think she'll cry and beg for him to let her go safe, to let her go free. He thinks all he'll need to do is speak prettily, with just the right amount of bared teeth, and she'll be eating out of his hands.

She could probably still have left if he hadn't laughed. A cool, derisive chuckle, one that says, _now, now dear, this isn't a little girl's game. Quiet down and let the adults speak now._

And fuck him. Fuck him and his expensive suits and his fucking smile and his fucking laugh. Fuck him and Fisk and all the other people who kill an old woman and call it fucking justified.

Just -

_Fuck. Him._

She aims the gun, squeezes the trigger.

The bullet thuds into his left thigh and scatters a faint red mist. He's too shocked to do more than stare at it, eyes wide, not with fear or pain but with fury. He looks back up at her and his lip is curled in an ugly snarl.

"Guess you did put a loaded gun where I could reach it," she says. Her hands have stopped shaking.

She's not the hero Matt or Foggy is, not even

He glares at her and she's pretty sure if looks could kill she'd be hbo levels of grisly right now but they can't and right now, he's powerless.

"Ms Page," he says curtly. "I don't believe you've really thought this through - " he's reaching for his phone, slowly, like he thinks she can't see and maybe he really does. Maybe he really does think she's that dense.

She lets him have this, lets him think he's getting out of this, the edges of his mouth are beginning to quirk up in a smirk. She waits until he's dragged his phone free, he's keeping it mostly covered with his hands and he's still talking, "You see, there is unless I leave this warehouse alive there is no possible outcome that is favourable for you. I have some _very_ powerful friends and you - "

This time when she fires the bullet cuts a neat hole in his right hand, blows his phone to bits.

This time he lets out a startled yelp of pain, glares up at her, "You _bitch,_ " he snarls and _there_ , she's finally got to him. It sends a thrill through her that she _loathes_ but she's finally drawn out a spark of fear in him, she's finally got him hunched over in pain, cradling his hand, in pain and _afraid_ and _god,_ there are so many men she'd like to see like this.

(So many men she _deserves_ to see like this.)

She takes a breath and then another. This might not have been the brightest of ideas but she can roll with it. Now she just needs to tie him up.

"Don't you move," she tells him and he makes a sound of wordless fury. There's no way she can risk moving, not when the gun she's holding is the one thing keeping him in place. She could probably wait for the blood loss to kick in but she's not entirely sure she wouldn't have lost her nerve by then so she does the one thing she can and calls for back up.

-

She stands for what feels like hours, pistol held aloft. Her arm is beginning to shake, her hand cramping from where it's folded around the metal.

Wesley's starting to fade, there's a sheen of sweat on brow and neck that's beginning to make his hair curl and there's an unnatural pallor growing across his cheeks. He's slumped more, keeping his face upturned to hers, refusing to look away.

They're trapped in this twisted game of chicken until help arrives.

 Her legs are just beginning to tremble when there's a dull thud and then a creak as the door is pushed open and _thank fuck,_ Karen thinks. But then Foggy calls out and she thinks, _oh fuck._

"What the hell kinda place is this K?" his words are running together, he's halfway between annoyed and afraid and she can hear it clear as day. He's still drunk, drunker in fact, but at some point in the last hour or so he must have crossed from "borderline suicidal" to " _so_ fucking _wasted_ man."

She just hopes he sobers up soon.

"You called _him_?" Wesley sneers.

Karen seriously considers shooting him again.

"Is this some kind of weird sex thing?" Foggy's slurring, "Because I _told_ you, I don't like weird! Kinky? Hell yeah! But fucking - fucking abandoned warehouses? No thank you!"

He rounds the corner, dazed and happy (and she'd be fucking elated that he's smiling if this were any other situation but as it stands), "Foggy," she croaks.

"KAREN!" he beams, then he frowns, "What've you got that for?"

Her mouth falls open but the words don't come out and then Wesley laughs and says, " _This_ is who you brought to help?"

And Foggy goes very pale and looks around at Wesley, blinks once, twice and looks back at Karen, eyes a little less unfocused, mouth hanging open, "Karen, what the fuck?"

-

Karen supposes she should be glad the warehouse Wesley dragged her to has obviously been used for this before. It's a small mercy in her increasingly bizarre life and she's not about to consider the morality of it all.

She sends Foggy to find something to tie Wesley up, mostly because it'll give him a small chance to sober up but also because she's not one hundred percent sure he'll shoot Wesley if he has too. Not that Wesley looks like he's going anywhere by this point he's starting to shake, but Karen's ready if he tries anything.

Foggy stumbles back to them ten minutes later; he's got handcuffs in one hand and a toolbox in the other, "Thought these'd be useful," he says, holding up the cuffs. He bends and yanks Wesley's hands behind his back. He whines when his injured hand is moved and Karen feels another sick thrill of victory. Once he's cuffed he slumps forward, forehead on the table.

"You feeling okay, _buddy_?" Froggy asks and there's venom in his voice which means, for now at least, he's decided that whatever Karen's doing here is justified. "You're looking a little pale."

Wesley growls in response.

"You look a lot more sober," Karen says softly when Foggy walks over to her. He's still holding the toolbox and he offers her a sheepish smile.

"I threw up a lot when I was looking for this," he admits. "But, look," he bends and opens up the box. It's full of the kinds of things Karen imagines would look right at home in a serial killer's work shop, saws and knives and what look alarmingly like dental tools.

"There's also this," Foggy says, pulling a bottle of vodka out of his pocket.

"Haven't you had enough of that?"

Foggy makes a face, "It's for his _wounds,_ dummy. If the plan is to keep him for information then - " he pauses, narrows his eyes to study her face. "Which _is_ the plan, right Karen?"

"Of course it is!" she hisses. "Who do you think I am?"

Foggy shifts nervously, "Well, before today I didn't think you were the kind of person who would shoot a man and hold him hostage."

Okay, she deserves that. She ducks her head, "I didn't either," she says quietly.

Foggy smiles weakly, "Yeah. Don't think he did, either?" He turns to Wesley, "Didn't bank on her being able to defend herself, did you asshole? You even still awake over there?"

" _Fuck_ you," Wesley growls and it's so out of character, so crass coming out of that suit-wearing, suave psychopath that they laugh and it's really fucking awful.

"Guess that's a yes then," Foggy says, when the laughter peters off. "So, what's the plan now?"

"Well, we can't keep him here." If this really is a warehouse they use regularly it'll be checked at some point. "We have to move him somewhere more secure."

Foggy gives her a long look, "I think I know a place." Karen wants to ask more because _what the hell_ but Foggy's holding up a hand to stop her. "We need to find a way to move him though," he says thoughtfully. "He drove you here?"

Karen frowns, "Yes?"

"Then we can use his car."

"Won't they be able to track it? I mean, in another few hours Fisk is going to be looking for him."

"He'll _find_ me," Wesley hisses.

Foggy smiles at her, an actual smile, "Don't worry I'm a lawyer. I know how to get out of almost _anything._ "

At that, Wesley snorts.

Foggy glares at him.

"Well, we should probably find a way to keep him quiet before we move him," Karen says. She's looking around for something to use as a gag but Foggy chuckles, "Good thing I found this too then," he says, pulling a bottle of chloroform out of his pocket.

Karen holds out her hand for the bottle.

"You sure?" Foggy asks.

"I've already shot him twice, putting him to sleep can't be too challenging," she winces a little at the phrasing but her hand doesn't shake.

Foggy nods, but there's a tightness in his expression that suggests he's sobering up a lot more and Karen really has no idea how he'll react to this whole thing in the cold light of day. God knows their little group is fractured enough as it is.

He watches as she crosses to Wesley, still slumped with his forehead on the table and yanks him back by his collar so he's sitting up. He glowers at her, bares his teeth like a feral dog, there's no fear in his eyes though, he looks resigned, a little annoyed even.

She tries not to feel too disappointed with that.

She tugs out his pocket square and he looks like he might protest, it's no doubt expensive, it certainly _feels_ expensive, but she soaks it in the liquid and presses it to his face before he can.

He struggles, but not as much as he probably could. This is for show, she knows. He's decided playing nice is his best shot at getting out of this. It's only for a second before he goes limp - completely limp that she sees the barest hint of panic in his eyes.

She straightens up and he slumps back in the chair, head lolling.

Behind her, Foggy sighs, "Okay, now that's taken care of..." he takes a breath. "Karen, what _the hell_ are you thinking?"

Karen knew this was coming, she turns to him with a frown on her face, "It's not like I _planned_ this, Foggy."

He crosses his arms, "Well, no, but - why didn't you just _leave_? What's the plan here, Karen? We hold him until we take Fisk down? Because that could take years!"

"Well we can't let him go! How long before he comes after us, Foggy? How long before he comes after Matt or our families?"

Foggy sighs, "And I guess we can't toss him to the police since Fisk owns most of them." He twists his mouth and runs a hand through his hair, "Fine. Guess we better start saving up to feed an extra mouth."

Karen scoffs and he gives her a look, "Hey, I draw the line at letting criminals starve to death in my presence. We better get going." He crosses to Wesley's slumped form and lifts him with some difficulty. "Alright," he says, in a strained voice. "Let's get out of here."

He drags Wesley across the room, past her and Karen follows. They shove Wesley into the trunk of the car and Karen climbs into the passenger seat, "So, where are we headed?"

Now that she's out of that place it's starting to hit her, her voice is starting to shake a little. They're in a criminal's car with aforementioned criminal cuffed in the trunk, there are very few scenarios she can think of that'd be worse than this.

"Matt's."

"We're going to _Matt's_?" Honestly, she's not sure what she expected.

Foggy nods like he's never been surer of anything in his life, "He'll know what to do."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i dont really have much more of this planned out, i know what'll happen next chapter and that's about it so updates might be patchy.
> 
> also ive never written a blind character so sorry if i slip up and have matt noticing way too many visual things (i know he can "see" but like, no?)

**Day Two: 2:06**

They drive to Matt's in silence, Karen's legs are shaking from standing so long, her arms are stiff from holding the gun up so long and she's tired but she's pretty sure she'll never have a good night's sleep again.

She keeps running through the alternate scenarios in her mind:

Scenario A: she kills him. Shoots him right in his smug face and ruins his pretty tie and his pretty suit and his pretentious fucking pocket square. She leaves his body to rot in the warehouse, goes home and cries and cries and cries. Because there are people who deserve death, she's sure of that, but she's not the one who gets to decide that. Shouldn't have to be the one who decides that.

She tells no one and it eats away at her until one day she wakes up hollow as he must have been. She wakes up one day an empty, rotten husk and then, and then - she doesn't want to think about that.

Fisk would come after her, she's sure about that.

Scenario B: he kills her and she gets bloods and brains all over his suit and if there's an afterlife she feels proud about that at least. She doesn't know if he'd feel guilty, he said he wasn't there to kill her but she's pretty sure he would have. She posed to great of a threat to his boss.

She gets found one day, maybe the next day if he calls in an anonymous tip. Matt and Foggy are devastated, then they're angry. They burn themselves out on trying to get revenge and they do, she knows they do. It's kind of nice, knowing that they'd tear the city apart for her. Comforting.

Scenario C: she accepts his offer, feels guilty about it, tries to be a double agent and fucks up somewhere along the way. She ends up dead or worse.

There's no scenario where everything turns out okay, not here.

She looks over at Foggy, hands gripped on the steering wheel. He's been avoiding her gaze the whole journey.

"I'll help you get him up to Matt's and then go dump the car," Foggy says when they pull up to outside of the apartment building. Karen wants to ask whether they should call ahead before dumping an unconscious criminal on their blind best friend but Foggy gets out before she can, slamming the door behind him.

-

As it turns out Matt isn't half as disturbed as she thinks he should be.

She, for instance would probably have more to say then, "I'll help you get him to the spare room," and "Make sure you don't leave any evidence in the car, Foggy. That's the last thing we need."

Foggy doesn't even need to say anything beyond, "We need your help," and Matt's ushering them in. She knows he can tell something's different, he can probably smell the blood, hear Wesley's rather laboured breathing. They've got him slung between them, like he's a friend who's had too much to drink, (sans the blood - she has no idea what they'd say if anyone noticed the blood.) They've uncuffed him for appearances sake. Not that Matt would know.

(And _God_ it's a struggle to have that man so close, that man who smiled as she shot him.)

Karen finds herself unable to form coherent sentences and Foggy gives a brief and urgent explanation and then he's gone and Matt's there, taking the rest of Wesley's weight and saying, "I have a spare room, we'll put him in there."

Matt's spare room is empty, the walls bare brick, the floor is dusty. The windows are high, far too high for anyone to peek out. She lets Wesley fall as soon as they're clear of the door frame, it's more instinct than anything and she's expecting him to thud to the floor but Matt catches his weight with little more than a huff and lowers him a little more gently to the ground.

"Did you shoot him?" Matt asks, matter-a-factly, like this is nothing out of the ordinary for him.

Karen feels herself start to shake again. Matt's so calm, how is he so _calm_? He's still crouched a little, looking up at her through his dark glasses (not looking, she reminds herself, he can't look even if it seems like he can.) She sinks to her knees.

"Yes," she says. Then she swallows, tries to steady herself, "Twice." It comes out as a whisper and Matt nods.

"We need to stop the bleeding," he says, softly, quietly. The calm authoritative voice he uses with hysterical clients. She's not hysterical. She can do this.

She nods, "Y-yeah."

"There's a first aid kit in the kitchen," Matt says, slow voice again. "And water, Karen. Hot water."

Karen stands, "Are you sure you'll be - " she stops short.

"I'll be fine, Karen," Matt says with a small smile. "He's out cold."

How Matt can tell that is anyone's guess really.

"He might wake up," Karen points out.

Matt sniffs, "What did you use? Chloroform?" It doesn't sound accusatory. It doesn't sound like _what kind of person can do this to someone._ It's the kind of thing a doctor might ask a patient, it's even toned and maybe even a little bit _impressed_?

But Karen flinches all the same, _I'm sorry,_ she wants to say. _I wish I could undo this. I wish Foggy hadn't looked at me like **that** , I wish this hadn't happened. _

"We found it in the warehouse," she says. "Where he - " she trails off.

Matt's expression tightens at that, his jaw clenches. He takes a steadying breath and Karen takes that as her cue to leave.

She makes her way unsteadily to the kitchen before she can study Matt's expression too thoroughly. The first aid kit is easy enough to find and as she waits for the kettle to boil for the water her stomach twists in knots.

She checks her phone, nothing from Foggy yet. He's only been gone seven minutes. It feels a lot longer.

Then again, if Fisk's men do catch Foggy, if something happens they probably won't hear about it until the news the next day. Fisk would make an example out of him, horribly.

The kettle hisses and Karen jumps, heart hammering. It takes a long time for her hands to stop shaking enough to pour the water safely.

When she goes back to the spare room Matt's still crouched beside Wesley, he looks up as she comes in and holds out his hand, "Hand me the kit please."

Karen pauses, "Matt, you don't have to - I can - "

"It's fine. I used to stitch my dad up all the time, even after the accident. As long as you thread me a needle and be my extra pair of hands we should be good to go."

Karen doesn't question it, doesn't have the energy to. She hands Matt what he asks for, threads the needle, watches as Wesley twitches a little when Matt starts stitching him up. It's kind of calming actually, watching Matt wash away the blood, cleaning up her mess.

When he's done he sighs and Karen finds herself exhaling, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding in, "How long do you think he'll be out?" she asks. The last thing they need right now is him waking up and yelling until the neighbours call the cops.

Matt holds out a hand and Karen pulls him up, "That depends on how much chloroform you used."

"Um," Karen sniffs, "A lot."

There's the barest hint of a smile on Matt's face, "Yeah, I guessed that. I can smell it all over him."

Matt puts an arm around her, guides her from the room, "Don't worry though, that room is soundproof. It's why I bought the place, actually," he explains as he leads her through to the couches. "My hearing can be a little oversensitive; when I first moved here I thought it would be nice to have a place I could sleep without interruption. That room has no heating though so that didn't really work out."

"Oh," Karen says faintly, letting him push her gently down on the couch. "Should we bring him a blanket or something then?"

Matt leaves his hand on her shoulder, it's warm, solid.

"Don't worry about that now, Karen," he says. He brings up his other hand to rub her arm comfortingly, "Now, I need you tell me, did he hurt you?"

"I - no, not badly."

Matt breathes a sigh of relief and she can see the tension leave his body. He moves away from her, takes a seat opposite, "Tell me what happened."

Karen does.

-

Her phone ringing makes them both jump.

She's told Matt everything and Matt's made them both coffee even though neither of them have touched it.

She reaches for it, "It's an unknown number," she tells him. "Should I answer?"

Matt inclines his head, "Might be Foggy."

It is and Karen feels a swell of relief as Foggy laughs through the static on the other end of the line, "I figured a payphone might be better. This way when this inevitably goes south they won't dreg up my phone records and ask why I was phoning you at 3am. I mean, there are totally legitimate reasons I'd do that but..." he trails off.

She's got him on speaker phone, Matt frowns, "You don't think anyone will think it's odd that Karen had a conversation at 3am with someone on a pay phone?"

"I did not..." Foggy admits. "Anyway, I ditched the car. Even if they find it they won't get any evidence off it."

"Please tell me you didn't set it on fire," Matt says.

There's a very long silence on the other end of the line and Matt shakes his head. It's so ridiculous that Karen finds herself smiling.

"I'm coming to you guys," Foggy says eventually. "I'll be there in ten." He hangs up and Karen leans back. He's okay. Matt's okay. They're all okay. For now, at least.

"You should get some rest," Matt says. "You can take the bed again."

She should argue, she should at least wait for Foggy to get back but she gets up and crosses to his bedroom anyway, she's asleep before she ever really hits the mattress and her dreams are full blood and dark rooms and powder burns on her palms.

-

Matt waits until he's sure Karen's asleep to kick his table over with a cry of frustration.

He almost lost Karen to this fight. He's beyond furious. He's going to make Fisk pay.

He storms across to the spare room, hesitates only long enough to consider donning his mask to really piss his _guest_ off. He decides against and throws open the door as hard as he can.

Luckily Wesley is awake, backed up against the far wall and panting, injured hand cradled close to his chest. "Mr Murdock," Wesley sneers. " _My_ what a situation we have here."

Matt can almost see Wesley's thought process, he's going to attempt to paint Karen as inept, to try and talk Matt into seeing that this doesn't end well for any of them. Better to let bygones be bygones and let Wesley slither back to Fisk unharmed.

Well, not anymore harmed than he currently is.

He wants nothing more than to cross the room and break Wesley's smug face but that can wait for now.

Matt smirks, "If you think you can talk your way out of this, Mr Wesley, I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken."

There's a shift in Wesley's body language, he curls in on himself a fraction, "So what do you intend to do, Mr Murdock? Keep me here indefinitely? Surely I don't need to remind _you_ of how lengthy your prison sentence will be when they find me, which they will."

He's so smug, so self assured. He might be frightened but he still thinks this will end his way.

But Matt's had his suspicions about what went on since Foggy told him the short version. This is too sloppy for Fisk, too amateur.

"It'll be easy for them once they put two and two together," Wesley is saying. "My employer will find me, and you'll be so, _so_ sorry."

Matt inclines his head, "Will they?"

Wesley's heart stutters.

Matt was right, Fisk didn't know what Wesley was up to. If he had he might have gone along to hold his hand, might have pointed out that leaving a loaded gun in front of Karen was a bad idea.

"I won't tell you anything," Wesley says, hurriedly.

Matt smiles, "Well, we'll see how you feel about that in a week or so."

He leaves Wesley to stew, exits the room just as Foggy comes in. He uses his key and from the scent wafting through the apartment he's bought pizza.

He pauses when he enters the main room, "What the hell happened to your table?"

"It fell," Matt mutters, bending to right it.

"Oh, it fell? With the assistance of you I'm assuming?" Foggy's still pissed at him, Matt can tell by the harsh edge to his joke.

Matt gives a noncommittal shrug and Foggy sighs, "Karen?"

"Asleep. I gave her the bed."

Foggy nods and dumps the pizza on the now right-side up table, "You never give _me_ the bed." he mutters, slumping onto the couch.

Matt snorts, "You're always too drunk by that point to care! Plus, no offence Fog, you're kind of heavy."

"Oh, no offence? Offense taken, buddy! What kind of vigilante can jump off buildings and save people but can't carry their drunk best friend a few feet further, huh?" Foggy's almost laughing, then he must remember he's supposed to be angry because he sighs, leans back and scrubs at his face with his hands. "This is _such_ a mess, Matt."

Matt sits down opposite him, "Yeah."

"You know Fisk'll link it to Karen eventually."

"No, I won't let him. I'll go out in the mask, make it known that I took Wesley to punish Fisk. We make sure Karen doesn't go anywhere alone; Fisk won't risk taking her around people. It wouldn't be good for his _image._ " He's got it all planned out. The streets'll be full of Fisk's men by now, looking for his pet. It'll be easy enough to find one to take a message back for him.

"And then? Matt, it could take months to take Fisk down, _years._ "

"You got a better idea?"

Foggy sighs again and sits forward, opening the pizza box, "Fine. I'm not going to argue since you're clearly insane. Just know that I was against this whole thing and I shall not be feeding or partaking in his care in anyway."

Matt smiles, "I'll make a note of it."

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this will probably end in matt/foggy/karen but maybe just platonic and fisk is really hard to write so sorry if he's a little ooc?
> 
> also, updates might be on the short side from here on out because aside from maybe the next two instalments i dont have anything planned out and id rather give you little updates than leave you hanging!
> 
> also also, is there any canon on wesley's background? or does anyone have any headcanons they dont mind me borrowing :D

Karen wakes up curled on her side. At some point someone must have taken off her shoes and tucked her in. She yawns and stretches and there's a moment, just a moment, before the she remembers and she feels warm and rested.

She rolls over; Foggy's sprawled next to her on Matt's bed, still dressed. He sleeps on his front, arms tucked under the pillow, face turned towards her. There's a dark smudge just above his right eyebrow and Karen's already reaching to rub it off before she realises what it is.

She draws her hand back and sits up.

Part of her still wants to believe it was all a dream, a nightmare but now, in the pale morning light she can see it for what it is. She made a split second decision and it was the best one on offer, this way everyone's alive. For now at least.

She pads through Matt's bedroom to the main rooms. Matt's asleep on the couch, there's a bruise on his face that she can't remember if he had the night before and he's kicked off the blanket Foggy must have draped over him. She pauses to toss it back over him before crossing to the spare room door.

She takes a breath before she throws it open.

Wesley is slumped against the far wall, his cheeks have a fevered flush to them and his eyes are bright, "Miss _Page_ ," he spits.

This time, Karen doesn't feel guilty, she doesn't feel frightened. She crosses her arms, "You might want to start being more polite if you want me to feed you."

He glowers at her, "You have no idea what you're doing," he hisses. " _I_ was trying to do you a _favour._ "

"By _kidnapping_ me?" she snaps, "By dragging me to a warehouse in the middle of the night and threatening me with a _loaded gun_?"

At that he actually has the decency to look embarrassed but Karen knows it has nothing to do with his snatching of her and everything to do with the fact that it went so poorly for him.

"Not one of my better plans," he admits quietly. It's a play, he wants her to think of him as harmless but she's not stupid. She's met his kind before, he may not have his bosses bulk or skills but he could do some damage. She bets he's all teeth and claws in a fight, like a feral cat backed into a corner. Then he smirks, "But now, Miss Page, look what you've done."

 _Look what you've done, Karen._ _Look what you've gotten yourself into._

She flinches a little at the words, she's heard them before from different mouths with the same meaning, _look at you, you stupid girl, look what you've done. Look what you've made me do._

"Everyone will know I'm missing now and it won't take long for them to connect the dots," he's saying. "My employer's mother may have difficulty remember from time to time but recalled enough to put me on your trail. She'll be able to do it again and once they find you they'll find our good friend, Mr Murdock."

"Maybe," Karen agrees. "Or maybe not. Fisk won't risk snatching me like you did, not in broad daylight. Do you think he'll really think I had anything to do with your disappearance?"

Wesley's mouth twists, "Perhaps he won't. But then, you weren't the only one to visit Marlene, now were you?"

Karen's blood runs cold and Wesley sneers, "Has anybody checked in on Mr Urich, I wonder?"

Karen is out of the room with the door slammed behind her before he has even finished his sentence and she hates herself for it. Hates herself for forgetting Ben, hates herself for letting him rattle her.

Matt's awake when she slams into the living room, doesn't look up from the kitchenette, "Coffee?" he offers, calm as ever.

"I have to phone Ben," she says. Her cell phone is on the table and she's in such a hurry she almost drops it twice. "Come on," she whispers, once she's dialled. "Come on."

Ben picks up on the fourth ring and Karen's legs almost give out.

"Thank _god,_ " she hisses and Ben chuckles, "Well, I don't know about _that._ " he says.

Karen doesn't waste time, "One of Fisk's men came to see me yesterday," she begins but before she can elaborate Ben's interrupting with a hissed expletive, "Karen, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she assures him. "He didn't have the guts to try anything and I played dumb and I think I convinced him I was harmless. But listen, they know I visited Fisk's mother, I think they know you were there too so maybe you should get out of town for a while?"

He chuckles at that and she can picture him, shaking his head like she's suggesting something ridiculous, "And go where, Karen?"

"It wouldn't have to be for long," she says hurriedly. "Just until we get this whole thing sorted out."

"What about my job, Karen? My wife? I've faced worse than this; I'm a big boy I can look after myself."

"Ben - "

"You look after you and I'll look after me, okay? I know how to play this game, Karen." He says, she can hear the smile in his voice. She's partly reassured; Ben _has_ played this game before and he sounds so certain but... "Now I've got to get to work, we can talk later, okay?"

She nods and says goodbye and when she looks back to Matt Foggy's joined him, yawning and running a hand through his hair.

"So, now what do we do?" Foggy asks.

"Now, we go to work," Matt answers. "We act like everything is normal."

Foggy sighs, "We should probably feed him before we do that. Maybe someone wants to take him on a bathroom trip? I, of course, can't because I disapprove of this whole thing but you know, just an idea."

-

Wilson is watching Vanessa breathe when one of his men enters the room with the grim news.

The room is quiet for a hospital but it is still loud, too loud. Beeps and bleeps and the distant clamour of the rooms beyond that buzz in his ears and set his teeth on edge. The scent of harsh cleaning chemicals and medicine and the faint coppery edge of blood has wormed its way into his being and the fluorescent lights flicker endlessly.

And Vanessa lies clinging to life by a thread (they have told him she will be fine, have told him that she was lucky to only have ingested a small amount, that they got to her before the poison could enter the blood stream, she will be fine they said but she still lies still and pale and fragile and he will not touch her for fear of hurting her - )

It is all too much, he has tried to use her breathing to ground himself and that worked for a time, focusing on the rise and fall of her chest, but that only led to anger. Anger that someone, _anyone_ would _dare_ do this to her.

This city was sicker than he first thought.

And Wesley is missing.

There had been a time earlier when he thought he would lose the two people he cared for most, when he would feared he would be cast adrift, thrown into orbit alone, with no one there to ground him.

It is a thought that still makes him shudder.

Wilson is not deluded, he knows that under his suits and his stammer he is a force of nature, kept in check by the people he trusts most. If they were taken from him he would level the city to get revenge.

"Not good news, sir," the man says, and he's shaking a bit, there's a tremor in his voice that he's trying to hide.

Wilson stands; the man takes a hurried step back.

They have all heard what he did to Francis for telling him Wesley was missing.

"We found the car he left in and..."

" _And_?" Wilson prompts.

"It was down by the river, near an abandoned warehouse. Someone had torched it."

Wilson lets out a noise of frustration. He tells himself that this isn't the worst case scenario, Wesley may still be alive.

"Anything else?" he grits out.

The man inclines his head, "We think - We think we have an idea who took him, sir."

Fisk clenches his fists.

-

 _Act like everything is normal,_ Matt had said. _From now on none of us go anywhere alone, alright? And we try to keep out of places we could be snatched from,_ he'd said. And also, _Foggy you will definitely be taking a turn babysitting it wouldn't be fair if you didn't._

They've decided Karen'll stay at Matt's for the time being and judging by the bulging backpack Foggy comes back at lunch with, he'll be joining them. Karen doesn't want to feel too relieved about the fact that they're talking to each other again but she is, she's more relieved than she could ever imagine.

It's pretty easy to slip into their work rhythm; they have a few cases to work on and Karen has some paperwork to catch up on. Karen buys them all lunch as an apology and Karen tries not to freak out at every car that pulls up out front of the building, at everyone whose gaze lingers just a little too long on her in the street.

She's doing a fairly good job of not thinking about the man they've left locked in Matt's spare room until Foggy gives up on his research and turns on the tv.

"Uh, guys," he calls. "You'll probably want to see this."

On the screen Fisk is looking grim, standing in front of a podium flanked by police officers, "Ladies and gentlemen, last night a good friend of mine, James Wesley, by all accounts a great man, was taken and we have reason to believe that it was the man in the mask that has been terrorising our streets. Now, I am not yet a politician so I have no real power here, but I know that I am not alone in viewing this man as a danger to all of us especially now he has taken someone against their will - " Fisk keeps talking but Foggy's hit mute.

"Guess he came to your rescue again," he says to Karen.

And Karen's smiling before she frowns, "But how would he know we took Wesley?"

Matt shrugs and Foggy gives a huff of laughter, "Looks like you have a _stalker_."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been so long guys! ive been pretty ill recently

"I don't understand," Vanessa says, she is pale and small and frightened. He can tell by the way she fidgets on the sheets, hands moving restlessly. "Wesley has been taken?"

Wilson closes his eyes.

They have his car, a burnt out wreck left abandoned and his phone, shot to pieces across town in a warehouse.

Blood on the floor. A lot of blood, too much blood.

They have the word of three men who swear the masked man has claimed responsibility.

They have the word of his mother, who spoke to Wesley last and told Wilson about the nice man and the pretty blond girl who came to visit her.

None of it makes sense.

The masked man has made no demands of Wilson and Wesley won't talk, of that Wilson is certain.

He has all his men on the mask, on finding every last scrap of information there is on him.

"Yes," he says, calmly.

She touches his hand and he looks down at her, meaning to say, _stay still, you need your strength._ She is studying him, warm brown eyes wide with concern, "Are you okay?"

He blinks, "I'm fine, Vanessa. It's Wesley we need to - "

She smiles, "That's not what I mean, Wilson." she says gently.

Wilson stands. It's too much, suddenly. Her kindness is too much. He crosses to the window, looks out over the city.

Wesley's somewhere out there. It feels strange not knowing where he is. The man has been a permanent fixture in Wilson's life for longer than he'd care to admit.

"Wilson?" Vanessa prompts. Gentle, always gentle.

"The man in the mask claimed responsibility," He doesn't turn around. He thinks of Wesley being forced into a car, thinks of myriad of injuries that could have left that blood behind. His hands curl into fists.

"It doesn't make sense," he growls. "None of it makes sense."

He hears Vanessa shift, "What doesn't make sense?"

He turns to face her, "We've had no demands from the man, why take him if not for something in return? We still don't even know where he was going when he was taken..."

She looks so pale, so delicate, but her eyes are fierce, "Perhaps they took him just to hurt you."

It's not said out of spite, or ignorance, he knows, and yet there is still a flash of anger at her words. She is merely doing what she has always done, pointing out the simple truths he always overlooks. 

It makes him want to cave someone's head in.

"Perhaps," he seethes. He takes a breath, "The last person he spoke to was my mother."

"Your mother?"

"Yes. She had a certain _visitor_ that Wesley was evidently concerned about."

"So find the visitor," Vanessa says. "They must know something."

If only it were that simple.

"The problem with that is that my mother....was not very specific," he mutters.

-

It doesn't take much to plant the idea that the man in the mask took Fisk's right hand man, a few hissed words to the right thugs and Matt's got them eating out of his hands.

It's the best strategy, Matt thinks. It'll keep the heat off Karen for a while at least. He'll have her stay here for the time being, easier to keep an eye on her.

Foggy, of course, hates it. Not the keeping an eye on Karen thing, the pining the kidnapping on the man in the mask. He catches Matt sneaking out that first night after Karen's crashed. Foggy goes the whole nine yards, hands on his hips, trembling voice, almost shakes some sense into him but gives it up in favour of a tight lipped, " _Fine._ But if you come back half dead you're getting no help from me."

 _Lie,_ his heartbeat says. _Lie, lie, lie._

He gets back to find Foggy waiting up for him, dozing on the couch. He jerks awake when Matt clambers in through the window, disorientated for a moment but righting himself, "All done playing Batman?" he asks. Matt can hear his frown.

"All done."

Foggy shifts so he's sitting more comfortably, "You think they'll buy it?"

"Oh, they'll buy it," Matt agrees, he sinks down to sit beside Foggy.

Foggy sighs, "Look, Matt, I'm not gonna even _pretend_ to understand whatever it is that makes you wanna dress up like a ninja and jump off buildings but I get that it's something you feel like you gotta do. It's still insane, by the way, but there are probably weirder things you could be doing with your free time. But listen, you have to lay low, at least for a while. Fisk was pissed at you before but now - "

Matt cuts him off, "Foggy, I can't just stop."

"I'm not saying stop," Foggy says, he's trying to keep his voice steady, he's not succeeding. "I'm just saying lay low. Just for a bit. Because you're not allowed to end up dead until you and Karen get me out of this mess."

Matt smiles.

"I'm serious, Matt! I mean, look at me! I would _not_ do well in prison."

"I don't think Fisk'd let you get to prison, Fog."

"Oh, I'll make sure he does," Foggy assures him. "I am totally selling you down the river, my friend. Dark secrets? I know them all."

Matt chuckles, "Well, at least I know I have your undying loyalty."

Foggy claps him on the back and yawns, "I'm gonna take the rest of the bed, alright? Hope Karen doesn't mind."

He turns up after lunch the next day with a very full duffel bag and whatever else Foggy deems essential and wordlessly announces his intention stay. Maybe it's better this way, Matt thinks, this way he'll be able to keep an eye on both of them (and Foggy'll be able to keep an eye on him.)

They get Thai food for dinner because none of them can cook and Foggy decides they'll only save the really spicy stuff because, "That dickhead in your spare room doesn't look like he'd handle spice so well."

Matt volunteers to take it to their guest, technically it's Foggy's turn to deal with him but Foggy's actually making Karen laugh which is way more important, besides, Matt has to change his bandages. (And of the three of them he definitely knows which antiseptic to use to cause the most pain and how to wrench a wound _just right_ without making it too much worse.)

It's obvious as soon as he enters the room that Wesley isn't doing well. His heart rate is up, his breathing is quicker and the scent of sweat that speaks of fever. He's not at death's door yet, not even close, and a mildly fevered Wesley might be a lot more useful than a Wesley in his right mind.

He's moved too, pressed himself into the far corner and when Matt comes in he shifts back as far as he can go. As he moves Matt can hear the scrape of metal on bone. There's still a bullet in Wesley's thigh, it'll need to come out sooner or later.

"I'm going to need to change your bandages," Matt says slowly. "Are you going to let me?"

"Get on with it then," Wesley mutters, after a fashion.

Matt approaches him slowly. Wesley waits until the last possible minute to launch himself at Matt, it's not entirely unexpected but Wesley still manages to tackle him to the ground.

It's a brief struggle, the only thing Wesley has on him is height but that doesn't add up to much. He pins Wesley easily, slams his head on the concrete floor, hard enough to stun without doing any irreparable damage.

"I promised Foggy I'd be gentle with you," he mutters, tutting. Wesley is still beneath him, blinking hard. "Don't worry; I didn't hit you hard enough to give you a concussion."

"You _saint_ ," Wesley spits.

Matt smiles, "Now, are you going to let me change your bandages or not?"

Wesley doesn't respond but he also doesn't struggle, so Matt takes that as a yes. Wesley's hand is easy; the bullet went straight through and somehow missed all the bones but the wound on his thigh feels hot.

"This is infected, you know," he says, conversationally.

Matt chooses iodine to clean it out and Wesley hisses.

"It's not going to get better unless we remove the bullet," Matt continues. "If we leave it too long..."

There's a sharp intake of breath but Wesley stays silent. He's furious, Matt can tell. Furious and frustrated and helpless.

"Just out of interest, what was your plan when you tackled me?"

For a moment Matt doesn't think he'll get an answer but then Wesley speaks, "You were the only one I thought would be a threat. Mr Nelson would be easy to take by surprise and Miss Page - "

"Shot you twice and took you captive," Matt reminds him.

" _Yes,_ " Wesley bites out, "Well, I would have been better prepared this time."

Matt allows himself chuckle at that, "And then?"

"I would have gotten to the street. My employer would have found me quickly enough and he would not be happy with you and your little friends."

"Mm," Matt hums, "Good thing it was easy to stop you then."

Wesley swallows, "So, how will this work, Mr Murdock?"

"Well, that depends on what you decide to do, Mr Wesley. You can either cooperate, help us save this city from Fisk and we'll do our best to make your stay here comfortable. _Or,_ " Matt cuts Wesley off before he can respond. "You can stay silent and we'll do nothing for you."

Wesley snorts, "You won't let me die in here, Mr Murdock. That's not in your nature." He's trying to sound confident, cocky even, but there's an undercurrent of uncertainty that Matt intends to feed.

Matt inclines his head, "Isn't it?"

 

 

 

 


End file.
